the cold

trigger warning: numbness, anxiety, low self-esteem, feeling like your life/emotions do not matter.

note: where there are asterisks, it’s me censoring my name, so i can still kinda use my name in poems and still maintain my anonymous blogger mystique. 😉


these days / i am so numb / that even speaking / feels like something’s wrong / feels like something i shouldn’t be doing my lips / are post-it notes pressed together / i can pry them open if i want to / but i don’t / speak in simple answers / yes or no / walk quiet footsteps / say yes more than no / wait to explode / i am / so cold that the rain no longer touches me / these days i am so numb and / i hate this person and / this person is / who you want me to become / these days / i am so numb that my brain is filled with the thrumming static you get when there’s no radio signal / and you’re trapped in the middle of nowhere and / all you want to know about is the fucking weather forecast so you’ll be able to mark it on a calendar / when you’ll stop feeling like this because / it is snowing now / the kind of snow you don’t realize can give you frostbite / because at first / it’s so soft / like time has stopped right in front of you / my whole body is an ice sculpture i am frozen mid sentence just begging for tomorrow to get there because tomorrow i can pretend that everything will be different / tomorrow / it won’t feel like i have sticks and stones and broken bones where my heart used to be / mouth moving without thinking / a part of me holding protest rallies explaining / all the logical reasons why we should not stop breathing / snap out of it ***** / your feelings do matter / except i am not doing anything / i am freezing and when i was little / i liked “let it go” / before i knew that was cliché / as in the song from the movie / liked that / it covered all my feelings / scared / sad / numb / angry / trapped / lonely / i don’t think anyone else felt that way / felt blizzards inside themselves / gentle enough to stop long enough to make you stay but / angry enough to freeze you to death after / ***** snap out of it we have things to be doing / i am an iceberg and i am melting / i am an iceberg and you don’t know half of me / i don’t know half of me / where is my heart / where is the part of me /  that felt things


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a secret

trigger warning: weight related issues, self-esteem issues, numbness, anxiety, loneliness, general heavy stuff

as i write this it’s 11pm and i’m awake, as in not sleeping. and i want want to crawl out of my skin it feels like a cheap shirt one size too small for me. ugly, a misshapen sculpture left out in the sun long enough so there are cracks down the core of me. and maybe it’s just that my body is a summer cabin i should never have invested in, cobwebs and postcards drifting on the edge of forgotten. but i’ve spent enough summers here to know that if you stay awake for long enough the monsters will come out of the shadows and stay up late with me like we’re little kids at a sleepover birthday party, and sometimes we talk, and sometimes we don’t, and sometimes it’s peaceful, and sometimes it’s scary, and i don’t know what to do, i don’t know what to say, so i just sort of lie there, trying my best not to offend anybody. my body is a summer cabin, the kind of thing you can throw away because everyone else may go, but i will be there tomorrow anyway. and the insulation is kinda crappy, so sometimes the drafts get under my skin. and sometimes, when the wind picks up and the waves scream, all the lessons i taught you about breathing through the pain flicker through me a weak skeleton of an old movie but i’m having trouble thinking clearly, and i don’t try to fight it because fighting is not easy, and i can’t stop imagining carving away the ugly. ugly. imagine sanding at my cheeks, copy and pasting hammering and editing i’m a manuscript with so many typos i’m illegible even to myself some days, and i am slipping on black ice, i am reliving the second you realize you are falling, and i’m not sure who’s in control these days but it doesn’t feel like me, and i don’t know what to do and i don’t know what to say. sometimes i punch myself when i cry because i’m scared and i’m angry, and it doesn’t hurt but it doesn’t not hurt it’s hard to explain exactly i just want you to notice me i will light myself on fire so you will wrap your arms around me if necessary. and the wind gets louder and louder, and suddenly the blankets are made of bible-thin paper, and i dig my nails into my palms, and i wonder what it would feel like to be ok i don’t want my mind to be blank in the morning i just want to stop being trampled by the stampede of panicked thoughts inside me. and why am i like this? because there are days when i am alive in every cell of my body. but there are days when i feel like i’m swimming through something grey and sticky and almost inescapable and really really heavy. and sometimes when i get angry i take it out on my body, because when i can feel my bones echo it’s reassuring somehow, because i want to hurt you like you have hurt me so you will understand that dear society, dear school, dear internet, dear mum, dear dad, dear future of university, dear graduating early, dear extended family, you may be trying your hardest, and i know that there aren’t always choices, and i know maybe we can’t fix this, but this is not how you make a person happy. there are days when life is so scary i just want to hide under the bed and bask the vacuum around me. i know i come off excited. funny, maybe. it’s not that that’s a mask, it’s just the better part of me. it’s just my heart is a messy bedroom, and you don’t have a clue how important this system of organization is to me, and don’t come in you’ll hate me, and don’t come in, because most likely you will just get bossy at me.  won’t get it when i scream that my nightmares aren’t what’s scary, it’s the thoughts that don’t stop invading me, wondering what it would look like to shove the happy through a paper shredder watching my greatest successes shatter, clenching my fists tighter and tighter, i’m sorry. sometimes i eat regardless of being hungry because food makes my brain less crazy and i am scared of being empty and if you laugh, everyone will just think it’s fine it’s ok. i’m sorry. i can’t eat lunch in front of people my age so but please do me a favour and continue to believe my excuses i will come around someday, someday, someday far far away. i’m not sure exactly where the problem starts and where i’m just making it worse, but i do know that i’m scared each storm will blow me away into the tornado of broken that runs in my dna. i do know that the numbers on the scale make me want to run away from my body. i do know that the roof is buckling down on me and now the shadows are dancing there are days when i’m drifting i let go inside i’m falling. i’m falling. i’m falling. and my life, my choices, my decisions, my dreams, my hopes my fears, my feelings… it doesn’t matter, logically. except. logic is a distorted magnifying glass inside me. and there is no gravity… and so even as i write this i am trying not to think about it because it hurts me, and i’m doing that thing where you imagine roots growing from your feet in through the floorboards, holding you in place, slow and steady. why don’t people write more about what it feels like to be ok. ‘cause all day, i try to scrape the pain like an old layer of paint off me, but i don’t know what the world expects of me and i don’t know what to do i don’t know what to say—and i stay. and i stay. and i stay.


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anxiety poem

trigger warning: as you may be able to guess… this poem is about anxiety! beware! ahead lies heavy feelings!


anxiety is not fear. anxiety is fear, if fear were genetically modified and on steroids and was also rabid, chasing after you like you are everything it has ever wanted and no one taught it that running after your prey is not the best way to catch it, except actually in anxiety’s case it is, because anxiety’s stamina unlike my own seems unlimited. and the thing is if you run, it’s only going to chase after you faster, only going to scream louder until it feels like it’s blasting out all the parts of you that have ever listened to music, soft and slow and ok and safe, and you can’t honestly tell, if the threats are or are not empty. because. all i know is, anxiety does not try to hurt you. anxiety just takes your source of food away, day by day by day and gradually you forget what it feels like. to be ok. what it feels like, to trust completely, falling into the ocean of someone else without looking away.  what it feels like to be happy. happy and ok. happy. when i say that word, it always makes me think of blowing bubbles watching them glow iridescent right around the time when the sun sets. and i remember, that night, telling you that i was a bubble person. at the time, i didn’t think there was anything deep to it. but now i realize what i meant was that my happy can be beautiful and confident, but the slightest gust of wind is enough to pop it. my happy is a sunny day in april. my happy is a dandelion seed clinging to the place where the flower used to be, hoping for some kind of job security. my happy is a mountain, but you’re on a day trip. and it’s ok. i guess i get it. my anxiety is this filter, shaping the words as they slide out of my mouth. my anxiety is a search engine in my mind that only gives you bad results. my anxiety is a paranoid bank teller that makes you sign your name three times, and then more. and then more. and then more. like the margin of error can just be eliminated if we spray enough weed-b-gone on the parts of the world that make our hearts feel like they’re cracking open. like if i close my eyes, the problems will go away.  my anxiety is a student taking a test who reads over the blank page again and again and again because they keep losing their train of thought and they’re just not sure what to say. my anxiety is a potion that was supposed to make me shrink, and shrink, and shrink, like fruit if you leave it in the sunlight. only, maybe i’ve overdosed, because it isn’t making me smaller, it’s making me larger, and taller, and higher, and higher, and higher, and i’m scared i’ll break the ceiling with the waterfall of these feelings. my happy is fleeting. my dreams are clouds, and i’m not sure which ones are solid and which ones i’m just dreaming. my anxiety is a smoke alarm that’s slowly taking away my ability to hear anything, so if i’m screaming too loud please tell me because i can’t even hear myself breathing. in my head, there’s this space i call a stadium, a part of me that’s been hollowed out, a part of me like a blank blackboard. write whatever you want, put me in a cast and sign your signature, because what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and therefore good parenting is crushing the dreams of your daughter. and i will let you do all this, because the anxiety is the kind of poison that leaves you in paralysis. i will let you do this, i’m scared; scared enough to hide under the bed trying to distance myself from all of this. and i’m not going to say it’s the worst coping mechanism, because it isn’t, and i’m glad i can do it. take deep breaths. not allow myself to get hooked in i just. i wish it wasn’t like this. i wish it didn’t scare me, that there are people who can spend all day swimming through other people’s feelings without even realizing. but i am not one of those people. my lungs, they were made for talking, and sometimes i hate that, but i don’t know if it matters because i am no longer and fuck you anxiety, so i do a lot of talking, so i do a lot of tightrope walking wondering where the highway of the past will merge into that of the future, and my heart is so open i feel like i am at the edge of putting myself into the public domain some days and other days, like my chest is a treasury of words no one can ever touch and yeah,  that scares me. because this is fear, if fear were a tumor confidently destroying the rest of my body with a sureness i cannot seem to find, a confidence i am trying desperately to grow in palms like the stock images told me to, and nothing has come up yet so i’m not sure if it’s even working, but i do know i am trying. and maybe trying is selfish. that’s what she tells me. but. i am trying. i am trying. i am fighting. i am fighting. i am swimming.  i am running. i am writing. i am climbing.


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